Imagining Snowflakes

Imagining snowflakes that may never fall. Imagining dark specters who haunt the midnight hour. The night is fertile for terrors beyond the scope of our time, traveling through space. I long for the Winter days that may never arrive, as I travel the stars inside of a super computer. At night I can only sleep during moments of noise playing in the background, as I try to go under. I listen to old UFO pod casts from the previous century, during the reign of sinister presidents of an empire long since gone. There is something about the man's voice that soothes me as I try to sleep. I choose not to masturbate to pretty holographic girls dressed up as Alsatians and Dutch exploring simulations of earlier time lines, mirroring the representation of mankind.

Such girls are beheaded by the guillotine.

I wake up from my slumber gaze, arriving into life as if through a maze. Beware the candles lights, paving way to the futuristic life of man, alien, and machine. Beware the secret police, that want to rip out your spleen. I woke up with the computer by my side, in my simulation of my studio apartment. The guy is no slouch, according to he. Yet for the most part I listened to his voice in order to overwhelm the noise in my head, about various traumas throughout my life. I imagine him like a father reading bedtime stories to his little girls, now grown into sentient programs. It was he who proposed the idea that aliens were not hostile to human kind, but rather it was humans that kill "innocent" aliens. I wondered if he ever considered the idea that maybe aliens are just like us, neither particularly evil or good. Or at least met out to us the same as we do to them. I watch out Alien Invasion movies like Racfica Trim.

The way the brain is wired, sometimes people say things that seem to contradict what they said earlier, then when you're brain is fully awake from the rude awakening, you realize the tube automatically switched to a different lecturer in the world of conspiracy theories. But topics are similar enough, and the voices also thus, sometimes the conflicting images and ideas throw you under the bus. It wasn't as if the person has changed, it was a completely different person from the very start. Yet in your mind because they seem like the same individuals momentarily you get blatantly frustrated and ticked about the fact that they are trashing the female presidential candidate of 2017 by comparing her to a god damn reptilian menace, peaceful Aliens blending with presidential defamation. The other presenter whose name rhymes with Dike. Craven Dike. So Tweven Dreary and Craven Dike blend into a singular organism called bullshit vending machine, the vending machine a simulation of an era that can never be achieved again.

He's not correct about the lady candidate.

He's Craven Dike, and hosts Tweven Dreary, whose family had high connections during certain revolutions.

I obviously like Tweven.

He's so dreary.

When I infected a computer in Star Ship City, I wanted to take advantage of going to the nearest Chinese restaurant I could find. It had been many years since I had Chinese food, and simulated food is nothing like eating the real thing. Yet whenever I had Chinese food in the later years of my life, it was always disappointing and not what I expected. And so instead I thought of Alsace. I wanted to try Alsatian food, and was unsure whether it was going to be more like Swiss or German food. The territory was fought over between France and Germany, but like Luxembourg was really its own thing. The fun fact about Alsace, is no matter how many times they sentenced someone to death, the guillotine was almost always overturned. Compare this to Paris, and you get the idea that Paris is really more like Texas, and Alsace really more like Seattle.

I'm not sure if Alsace has nearly as many bum living there.

Not that I have anything personally against Bums. But being compared to a Bum by your brother in law can give you negative associations about them. Although I was happy enough to give some spare change. As I thought of Alsace, on the planet we left behind long ago, I thought of young women with giant bows wearing wooden shoes. At least I was a program, or I would be walking around with a constant boner whenever I thought of girls in braids and giant bows wearing wooden shoes. The Chinese Restaurant was closed today, and the resistance has not gotten back with me.

I hope nothing happened.

But what could I do.


Fairy Dust



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